


breakfast of champions

by turnyourankle



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Banter, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Humor, Gyms, Intercrural Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Rimming, Smut, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-05 01:34:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12180345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnyourankle/pseuds/turnyourankle
Summary: An injury relegates Harry to the weight room; Louis wears a lot of interesting shirts.AKA Harry and Louis are gym buddies.





	breakfast of champions

**Author's Note:**

> Short and sweet and hopefully enjoyable! All the shirts mentioned in this fic are real, and I was inspired by the first sweater mentioned in particular. I'm going to dedicate this to Nina, I think she'll figure out why.
> 
> Sidenote: if anyone has been reading "...River" just thought I'd let you know I'm making really great headway on the final chapter :) So that will be up soon-ish!
> 
> Anyway, it's self-indulgent and light but hopefully it'll brighten someone's day!

Harry sighs through gritted teeth as he eyes the pristine row of treadmills. It's early enough in the day that they still each have towels on their rails. His lips pinch as he steers towards the changing rooms. 

Save for the sneakers that he plucks out of his locker he’s already dressed for his workout. He figures the shorter time he has to spend getting changed the less tempted he’ll be to hit the treadmills again. Harry laces his shoes tightly out of habit, and shakes out his ankles as he stands up. He knocks on the closed door three times for luck before heading back into the gym. 

One of the treadmills is occupied now. A man about Harry’s age with a slight build is going at it. His feet are pounding the belt, fists tight, while a trainer hovers with his back to Harry. It looks like the trainer could be Liam which gives Harry all the more incentive to behave and not agitate his injury. Liam wouldn’t hesitate to suspend his gym membership if he thought Harry would aggravate his injury.

“Two minutes,” Liam calls out, and the runner groans in response, head dipping and his hair falling into his eyes. “What'd we say about wasting breath, Tomlinson?” Just as it looks like he's about to answer Liam continues, with a shake of his head, “Don't answer.”

Tomlinson laughs and Liam turns, trying to fight his own laughter. Harry’s never seen Liam bantering during a session. Still, his focus is on Tomlinson. His speed doesn't seem impacted by his own laughter, heels still hitting the belt hard. Harry’s quite familiar with the speech Liam’s going to give Tomlinson about landing like that.

Liam seems to notice Harry, hand waving in his direction. Harry waves back but takes it as his cue to hurry down to the weight room.

He does his easy warm up, stretching out his limbs and loosening himself up before mapping out his route in the room. He’s not unfamiliar with the space as he tends to fit in one or two strength training sessions a week normally. But this time it’s a full session he has planned, and he wants it perfected to a tee.

He’s halfway through his session on the butterfly when he hears Liam come down the stairs. He readies himself to watch Tomlinson, tongue pressed stiffly between his lips. He follows Liam down the stairs with energy, palms rubbing with excitement.

There’s a light sheen of sweat on his face, the hollows of his cheeks emphasized when he sucks them in.

The full view of Tomlinson moving into his periphery is even better than the glimpse Harry snuck earlier, and still what catches his eye is the word emblazoned in red on his sweater:

**SWEAT**

Harry chuckles to himself, turning his face into his bicep. It's not a joke, not a pun, but considering it’s a _sweater_ at the gym...It has to be purposeful. 

Luckily, Harry manages not to get caught up in Liam and Tomlinson’s conversation. He also manages to avert his eyes when he catches Tomlinson lifting his sweater to air it out.

“You’re not getting out of this faster by faking heat stroke,” Liam’s voice echoes in the room and Harry bites down on his lip hard enough that he tastes blood.

“Thought you wanted to bring the pain, Payno?” He stretches his arms out. 

“Louis, you can’t call me that here,” Liam says with a hiss, trying to quiet Louis down. Doesn’t seem to work as Louis bends down to pick at some dumbbells with a dramatic groan and moving them towards the center of the room. 

“You’re right, Big Payno’s your official title isn’t it?” 

“Tommo.” Liam shakes his head. 

Harry files away the _Louis_ as he watches Liam demonstrating the moves he wants Louis to perform. They’re simple enough, and yet Louis keeps asking Liam to do them over again, “It’s not that difficult, Louis,” Liam says, a bite of impatience in his voice.

“Aha! I knew I could make you crack,” Louis says with pride, offering his fist up for a bump from Liam. Liam’s face is pleading. Louis shakes his head, says, “Fine, fine,” and then fist bumps himself.

“I’m having you do doubles just for that.”

Louis shrugs, seemingly unbothered. “Bet you would’ve found a reason for that anyway.”

Harry doesn't preen but he does try to catch Liam's eye so that he can get an introduction of some kind. Easier than just going up to the guy and striking up a conversation. Unfortunately Liam and Louis seem to be in their own world, and they leave before Harry’s done with his strength pass. The rest of it passes with little enthusiasm.

 

-

 

Harry hasn’t seen Louis in ten days. He isn’t counting. Well, he is counting his gym days and his off days, so indirectly, perhaps, he is counting. 

It’s not that normal for Harry to run into the same people at the gym, but if someone cares enough to get a personal trainer they’re usually dedicated enough to visit the gym more often, and there’s a greater chance that Harry will see them several times in one week.

But so far, no Louis. Even though Harry’s been to the gym regularly enough that he should have seen him. Which could mean that Louis’ session with Liam was just a test and that he decided not to go through with more--which seems unlikely, considering the laughs and snippets of conversations Harry overheard. Or maybe the regimen Liam had set up for him is lax? Or, Harry hopes, Tomlinson just has a really erratic schedule.

Harry’s lost in thought, frowning that he might never see Louis again, when he knocks into someone with his bag as he hoists it over his shoulder. “Sorry,” he pleads, and is met with Louis’ sharp gaze. It’s curious and probing, but he’s already heading away from the gym. His mouth twitches and he shrugs before walking off, leaving Harry in the dust.

“Fuck,” Harry mutters to himself. He’s left standing holding the door to the gym open, staring after Louis. He’s attention grabbing is all, cropped leather jacket draped over his back, emphasising the dip of his waist.

And on the back of it, emblazoned in white:

**Oh God, is it finally over?**

“I like your jacket,” Harry says, unable to control his tongue. He’s far away enough that he hopes Louis doesn’t hear, but no luck. He turns around, smirk carved into his face. And he winks. Leaving Harry to somehow focus on his workout with that visual, and the embarrassment burning in his gut.

It’s just cruel, really.

-

The first time they actually exchange words is two days later. Louis is standing by reception when Harry walks in. Louis' dressed in his workout clothes, his regular tights and a white shirt that’s been knotted around his waist so that most of the text on it is obscured. His bellybutton is bared though, which gives Harry more pause than anything Louis' shirt might say.

James is talking to him, face strained and red. “You can’t wear that. We have a no topless men policy.”

“I’m not topless!” Louis exclaims, and he sounds irritated, like he’s said it multiple times already. “I’m not showing any more skin than the women who wear cropped tops.”

James’ teeth are bared in an angry smile. He looks ready to attack, and Harry takes that as his cue to clear his throat. 

James does a double take when he notices him and his face transforms, cheeks full as his smile grows wider. “Harry! Hello, welcome. We’re just dealing with a policy breach--”

“Excuse me?” Louis interrupts, and Harry hears himself say, “That’s a bit harsh.”

Louis’ brows pinch before he turns Harry’s way. “Thank you,” he says sincerely.

Harry shrugs, because it feels obvious. What Louis said makes sense. There’s no reason he shouldn’t be allowed to wear that. 

“Why don’t you just unknot it?” James asks, the stiff angry smile back in place.

“Listen, James, I don’t think you want to see what this says.”

“If it’s not a naked navel I think I’ll be fine.”

Louis shakes his head before making eye contact with Harry. He undoes the knot with nimble fingers, and shakes out his shirt.

**REAL MEN EAT ASS**

Harry’s mouth drops open, and Louis shrugs in his direction.

James stares at Louis shaking his head. “What? What’s wrong with that? It shows a nice competitive spirit.”

Harry chokes on his own spit, laughter crowding his throat. He tries to hold back the sound, but ends up choking on even more air. His chest shakes with his suppressed laughter.

“Oh dear god,” James exclaims, making a move to get out from behind the counter, panic painting his face.

“‘M fine,” Harry coughs out, trying to ward James off. “M fine, just. I’m just so excited to be working out, you know. Sometimes it’s hard to hold in.” 

“Right,” James says, clapping his hands on the counter. 

“You’re right,” Harry tells him, eyes darting towards Louis who seems stunned into silence. “I think that shirt’s motivating. You’ve got to eat ass to succeed, yeah?”

“Exactly,” James says. And then his head tips back and his mouth drops open with a realization. He pounds his fist against the counter three times. “Louis. I get it, you were trying to pull one on me. Pretending like you were wearing something offensive.” He shakes his head, and Louis’ eyes Harry with a panicked smile. “Just keep it down.”

“Okay,” Louis says, eyes still wide. Harry shoots him an enthusiastic thumbs up and a smile before Louis heads towards the treadmills.

“Sorry about that. Sometimes I think his hobby is being difficult,” James says, cheeks puffed up with his smile. 

Harry does his best to smile wide right back, but pinching his brow together. “Really? I don’t see it.” 

-

On Wednesday, Louis is already in the weight room when Harry comes down. He’s got his back to Harry during most of it, but Harry enjoys the view nonetheless. 

It’s pretty rare that he gets to see Louis from this side, since he normally seems to keep Harry in his own line of sight.

Today, Louis wears a black loose tank top. It’s loose enough that Harry can catch sight of a nipple when Louis stretches his waist.. And then when Louis straightens out and turns Harry’s way, the white text of his tank is impossible to miss:

**LICK MY LEGS**

Harry’s paranoia kicks in full force, and he’s quite certain his face has gone red. He clenches harder against his barbell, hoping he can get away with the flush if it looks like he’s straining. 

Harry knows he’s probably worried for nothing, but he also knows he’s spent a good long time watching Louis’ legs. It’s probably just a shirt. Just a shirt like any of Louis’ other shirts. It couldn’t mean that Louis’ noticed Harry’s staring. Because Harry can’t live with himself if it’s that. 

 

-

 

Harry’s done a good job of mostly ignoring Louis’ shirts since the Legs incident, not wanting to assign any meaning that wasn’t intended to them. But also not wanting to get caught staring, if that’s what Louis was acknowledging.

But today, the day that Louis comes in with a too big, yellow shirt inscribed with the serious question:

_**Where's the beef?** _

Harry can’t control himself. “Is that why you’re here? To find _The Beef_?” Harry asks, hoping it comes off as a joke despite the way his throat has gone dry, and his heart has shot up into his throat.

“Are you offering?” Louis counters, eyeing him up and down with a cock of his head. Harry’s body can’t decide whether to choke or laugh and he ends up with a mixture of both. “Don’t die on me now, Harold,” Louis says amused, but there’s a hint of concern in his voice.

“‘M good,” Harry says, bringing his fist to his chest. Louis nods his approval and moves towards the dumbbells, picking a five pound one up. His eyebrow twitch as if to ask Harry, _Well?_ and Harry catches on. Even though he’s been doing ninety percent strength exercises lately as opposed to his usual thirty percent, he hadn’t bulked up that much. He fills out his clothes a lot better, too well, some would say, and sometimes gets distracted when he watches himself flex in the mirror. But compared to most of the guys who spent most of their time in the weight room, Harry doesn’t even register. He doesn’t want to think that that’s why Louis does spend so much time in the weight room, even though it seems Liam’s assigned him more cardio. Harry tries not to sound disappointed when he says, “Don’t think I qualify yet.”

“Hmm.” Louis smacks his lips before turning back to his workout. “Might have to make an exception, I guess.” 

Harry can’t believe he’s hearing that right.

-

Things come to a head on a Thursday afternoon. As seems to have become commonplace, Louis joins Harry in the weight room halfway through Harry’s work out. He salutes Harry hello before picking a machine exactly in Harry’s line of sight. 

Harry licks his lips, swallowing to prepare himself, before letting his eyes flick down to Louis’ shirt. 

**Sex the breakfast of champions**

His eyes shoot right back up to meet Louis’. There’s a woman on the shirt, but something in the way Louis stares at Harry tells him Louis would have no interest in her, even if she were in the room. The tension feels material, solid, like a forcefield around them. Harry swallows involuntarily, and does another rep as he collects himself.

Louis doesn’t even try to hide that he’s watching him, and Harry flexes his pecs. Fuck it. “Good breakfast?” Harry asks, and Louis puckers his lips. He stretches out, as if with pride.

“Not today, nah,” he answers with a wink, “Don’t think I’d need a work out now if I did.”

“Right,” Harry says, just to keep his mind off of what that might mean. What kind of sex Louis would be having that would tire him out too much for a workout.

Harry’s stuck with a loop of those very thoughts in his head, which means he ends up cutting his session short. He’s too flustered, Louis is too close to him with his flexing thighs and shoulders and strained grunts; he’s being generally obnoxious. Obnoxiously distracting. Distracting him through the shower and as he gets changed, even in his absence.

And of course, he has to waltz into the changing room just as Harry sticks his feet into his shoes.

Louis’ got a towel draping his shoulders, but even that isn’t enough to hide their definition. Harry just stares at that, trying to avoid looking at Louis’ shirt again.

He doesn’t notice that Louis is speaking with him until he nearly knocks his feet against Harry’s. “You okay? Do you need some of this?” Louis asks, offering Harry his frothy protein drink.

Harry shakes his head, putting his attention towards lacing his shoes again. 

“I'm going to wash this down with a pint,” Louis says slamming his protein tumbler on the bench after taking a long pull of it. “Care to join?”

“Nothing wrong with a little after work.”

Harry narrows his eyes. “This isn’t work.”

Louis puts on a shocked face, palm pressed against his chest as he walks backward towards the showers. “You’re saying this isn’t a workout?” 

Harry can’t help the cackle that escapes, and he covers his mouth with his hand. “You like a good pun, eh?” Louis asks. 

Harry shakes his head. “Where’d you get that idea?”

“No clue,” Louis says with a proud smirk and a lift of his brows, before continuing his trek to the showers. 

Louis shouts out, “Well, you can wait for me and then I’ll know you want to join, or you can leave. No foul.”

“I know a place,” Harry says to Louis’ naked back. He’s met with a peace sign thrown in acknowledgement of his statement before he disappears behind the curtain. 

It’s good, probably, that Harry has to wait. It’ll give him time to prepare for sitting across from Louis in a new context. A context where things could actually happen. 

 

-

 

One drink turns into two turns into three at Harry's favourite bar, nestled just between his house and the gym. Not that he put any thought into the location, he thinks, as he lets his gaze linger on Louis’ mouth. It’s wet, shiny from all the beer he’s been drinking.

“You’re always wearing shirts,” Harry blurts out and Louis’ face crinkles with laughter. They’re both just tipsy enough that everything has another edge of hilarity to it.

“You too,” Louis says, and knocks his beer back. “You’re also always wearing shirts.”

Harry shakes his head, because Louis doesn’t get it. “No, not like you. Don’t wear them like you.”

Louis bites his lip, and in the dim lighting his eyes shine bright. This is it, Harry thinks. He moves his face forward, just the tiniest bit, hoping for Louis to meet him halfway--

“I need to piss,” Louis says suddenly, patting Harry’s thigh. It’s mid thigh, so high, and it burns through Harry’s jeans. Louis ambles away towards the back of the bar and Harry blinks after him. He’s still leaning into the space where Louis was just seconds before, and he hasn’t recovered from this turn of events. 

Just before going down the stairs, Louis’ eyes cut back to Harry across the bar, sharp and unrelenting

Harry bites the rim of his wine glass in response. Louis must want him to follow. He must. But just in case he doesn’t, Harry gives him a few seconds. He’s never finished a drink so slowly in his life, but as soon as the last of his wine hits his tongue he’s on his feet, rushing towards the bathrooms.

Louis is bracing himself against the sink when Harry comes in, the door swinging shut behind him.

“Did you really need to piss?” Harry asks. He’s barely walked twenty steps and still he feels winded.

Louis looks at him through the mirror, and shakes his head. “Needed to cool down.”

“Why?” Harry asks, stupidly. But also because he wants to hear it. Wants more than the slow drag of Louis’ eyes and the lick of his lips. He wants the words, wants the promise they’d entail.

Louis exhales with a rattle. “Can't quite control myself around you.”

“I-- What if I don’t want you to?” Harry shivers at the thought. He’s never been this quick to let anything like that slip. He hopes he’s not making a mistake.

Louis’ jaw clenches and he turns to face Harry head on as he walks towards him. “Harry, don’t say that, please.”

Harry insists, “You can have your way with me.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Louis says and they’re so close he’s practically breathing into Harry’s mouth. Louis’ confession makes him feel bold, and Harry ventures a leg between Louis’ . He lets Harry through easily, hands landing on his shoulders, squeezing them tight. Harry’s thigh strokes along the seam of Louis’ groin. He’s definitely interested, and Harry’s breath grows ragged.

“Look at you, taking charge,” Louis says with a smile. He’s teasing, but still, Harry shakes his head. 

“Don’t wanna be in charge. Just want you to know I’m serious. I don’t want you to hold back.” Harry licks his lips, and Louis’ mouth presses against Harry’s before he’s even done, tongue caught in the middle. It just makes their kiss more intense, open mouths and tongues sliding hotly together. Louis bites lightly at Harry’s lip before pulling away. 

“Bet you could hold me down if you wanted, though, hm?” He squeezes Harry's bicep. “You’ve made sure to do the work for that.”

“Just ‘cause I can doesn’t mean I want to,” Harry says, still keeping himself as close to Louis as possible. Staying still. He tries to tuck himself closer to Louis, jigsawing themselves together.

“I can tell,” Louis says, following it with a scratch of Harry’s scalp. It feels so damn good, Harry lets his head loll against the wall as Louis’ clever fingers work around him.

“Do you want me to?” Harry asks because he has to. Has to know what Louis expects from him. He’s already on an irreversible collision course with Louis, but he still want to know what’s expected of him. Wants to know if he’s read everything wrong.

Harry can practically hear the hitch in Louis’ smile, his own eyes having slid nearly shut under Louis’ ministrations. “Must get that a lot, huh?” Louis asks in return. Harry blinks his eyes open, waiting for Louis to elaborate. He’s studying Harry’s face so closely, it nearly feels like he’s trying to read Harry’s mind.

Louis licks his lips, the smack clear and he hooks his chin over Harry's shoulder. “How many people have brought you home, hoping for you to boss them around?” Louis’ fingers trail along the line of Harry’s arms, moving quickly to fist Harry’s shirt in the back. “Hoping for you to be a brute because of all this.” 

Harry's mind is reeling, a hot flush traveling over his skin. Even though Louis’ words are suggesting the opposite, they just make Harry feel like surrendering, right now. He wants tell Louis anything he wants to know.

“A few,” Harry croaks out, eventually. The others hadn’t asked either way, but Harry knows they wanted to.

“Hm. But you don’t want to push people around?” Louis asks. No expectations in his voice, nothing but curiosity. As if Harry’s answer either way would be fine. Like he wouldn’t mind holding his own hands against his back and following Harry’s orders if that’s what Harry wanted. He could adapt. And that-- that’s hotter than anything else. 

And it leaves Harry comfortable enough to say, “No. No, it’s not.” He tips his head up to show what he means, asking for a kiss he could easily claim on his own. But he doesn’t want to claim it, wants Louis to offer it to him. 

And Louis does, his open mouth a hot well as he presses it against Harry’s. His tongue is soft as it pushes against Harry’s, and they’re stuck just sucking face for a good few minutes. Harry unable to get enough of Louis’ taste. There’s a hint of the grassy beer he’d been drinking, and his spit alone is intoxicating.

“I think we should probably leave,” Louis says as he pulls away. 

“Like, leave leave?: Harry asks with confusion. Louis’ pupils are blown, and from the way his groin feels pressed against Harry’s thigh Harry _knows_ Louis is interested. Harry’s pretty sure it’s impossible not to read on himself. His lips are swollen, his eyes fixated on Louis. His hairline is already beaded with sweat from the way his heart has been racing since he walked into the bathroom. 

“Like leave for somewhere more private,” Louis clarifies, and Harry’s hips jerk in response, without his control. Yeah. Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.

He repeats as much and Louis laughs. “‘M glad you agree.” They share another kiss as Louis wipes his thumb along the top of Harry’s cheekbone. “‘M gonna close out the tab. Meet me outside?” He asks and Harry nods eagerly. 

It feels a bit like Louis is giving him an out, a chance to flee the scene no questions asked if Harry so wanted. But that’s really, truly, the last thing Harry wants.

 

-

 

Harry’s jittery as he waits for Louis outside, somehow already off-kilter from being alone. Like he needs Louis’ reassurances, his praise in that high scratchy voice of his. It doesn’t help that the bright light of day makes him feel like he’s in an alternate dimension, the alcohol making the world seem a bit more surreal in stark daylight. As if the sun is waiting for something to happen.

Harry must’ve been right about thinking Louis was giving him an out, because he looks both surprised and relieved when he steps out of the bar and notices Harry there. He squints into the sun as he smiles wide.

“Hey, there,” Louis says, “You’ve got a great lean going on.”

“Thank you,” Harry says, because he can’t think of anything else. It’s not a compliment he’d ever thought he’d get. He pushes himself off the wall, stumbling slightly in Louis’ direction. “Walk me home?” Harry asks, and it’s not intentional, but he knocks his hand in Louis’ direction and he takes it. The accompanying squeeze is all Harry needs to know to start leading the way. Harry’s feet move without his instructions, and but he has all intent behind tugging Louis closer to him as they start towards his place. 

Louis starts humming a tune as they walk and it wheedles its way into Harry’s brain. It sounds incredibly familiar but he can’t quite place it. Not until Louis lets out a soft, drawn out, “ _Sky rockets in flight_...”--Louis quirks an eyebrow as he croons--”... _afternoon delight._ ” 

“Oh my god,” Harry says with a suppressed groan. But he also can’t hold back the laughter that pours out of him.

“What?” Louis asks, playing innocent. 

“You’re an absolute menace.”

“Never claimed otherwise,” Louis answers. And even though their walk signal is on, Louis pulls Harry aside and kisses him, deep and thorough. Harry lets himself get lost in it as the sun beats down on them, and he’s warmed from the inside and the outside, both. They have to wait for the next walk signal before crossing the street, but they’re not in a rush.

 

-

 

They barely make it into Harry’s apartment before Louis’ hands are tight on Harry’s hips. “Anyone else home?”

“S’just me,” Harry mutters, and in a bold move, he asks, “Where do you want me?”

Louis’ breath catches before he tucks his chin into Harry’s shoulder. “Think you should lock the door first, maybe. Then…” He trails off, eyes wandering around the room. Harry’s a bit curious what he’s looking for. A couch to bend Harry over? A table to have him lay down on? Or the kitchen counter where Harry can brace himself, knuckles going white as he grips the edge.

Turns out it’s none of those, as Louis pauses nods towards the bare wall that faces the shoe rack. He asks, more than says, “Facing the wall with your hands up?” 

It’s more of a question than anything, and Harry swallows tensely. He’s never had sex anywhere other than his bed and the couch in this apartment. And he sometimes has flashbacks when he sits on the couch with his family and his friends. The hallway…. Will lead to a lot more inappropriate boners.

And still, it sounds like the most appealing thing ever. He goes easily and by the time he’s got his arms up, hands fisted and braced against the wall, Louis comes up close behind him.

He doesn’t waste any time, pushing Harry’s hair away from the back of his neck, starting a trail of kisses. 

He’s pressed against the wall just by the power of Louis’ mouth. He’s no holding Harry down, or pushing him; he’s trusting Harry to stay still. Soon, Louis’ breath is hot against the small of Harry’s back. “Taste just as good as I thought,” Louis says after nipping at the flesh of Harry’s hip. Louis’ nails rake over his back, and Harry lifts his shirt off to give him full access. He throws it against the shoes, knocking a few over. Not that that matters now, now when he’s supposed to be standing still with his hands above his head.

He goes back into the stance naturally and arches his ass backward. “Louis, please…”

“Hmm,” Louis hums from behind him, His fingers are hooked in Harry’s jeans, pulling them down over the swell of his bum. Each kiss of fresh air on his overheated skin searing his nerves.

Harry starts to shimmy his hips to speed up the process. Louis slides them down to just above his knees, keeping Harry’s legs trapped.

“Eager aren’t you? Thought you wanted to stay still?” Louis asks and Harry immediately tenses. “Isn't that what you wanted?”

“Yeah, 'tis,” he breathes out, and it must be the right answer because he’s rewarded with Louis’ wet, wet mouth pressing right against his hole. Harry grunts in response, clenching his muscles. He breathes through his nose as Louis eases up, tongue gently laving around his rim.

With Harry’s pants and underwear still tight around his thighs he can’t move much, and he shivers as Louis spreads him open. He feels molten, malleable under Louis’ touch, and his head feels heavy and light at the same time.

Harry lets his weight drop against the wall, the thud of his head hitting it startling him. It must’ve scared Louis as well because he stops licking him out, asking, “Feel good?” 

“Yeah, yes. Don’t stop please.”

Louis does stop though, but only to pull at Harry’s jeans again. “Let’s get these off, yeah? Give you a little air.” His fingers are careful as he peels the fabric off of Harry’s legs, pressing kisses against the back of his knees as he goes.

Harry holds a whine in the back of his throat. He doesn’t want a little air, doesn’t want a break or a breather. He’s hard, trail of precum on the wall from where he’s kept his tender cock pressed against it, wanting so much more friction. What he wants, what he needs, is release.

But he also wants to listen to Louis. 

So he lets Louis have his way. Trembling under Louis’ touch as he palms Harry’s calves, rubs his thighs and starts dragging his teeth along the back of them. Harry’s getting so wet with spit and sweat and he can’t help but spread his legs farther.

“Someone’s needy, yeah?” Louis says and Harry can practically hear the smile in his voice. That’s what he gets for having studied and listened in on him at the gym for weeks. He’s learned to figure out what Louis sounds like when he smiles. 

“‘N you’re a tease,” Harry counters, trying to goad him into continuing. 

Instead of Louis’ mouth Harry feels one of his fingers pressing against his hole. It’s not trying to intrude, just a gentle rub as Louis sucks at the junction where his ass meets his thigh. 

“S’my specialty,” Louis says, before his mouth is hot against Harry again. His tongue is pointed against the center of him, thrusting persistently. Harry’s so focused on breathing, on each single nerve under assault that he doesn’t notice that Louis’ going for Harry’s cock until his fingers are tight around it.

“Argh,” Harry exclaims. He pounds his palm against the wall as he bucks into Louis’ touch. It’s too much; it’s not enough. “Fuck-- Louis--”

He’s rendered speechless when Louis starts sucking at his rim, fist squeezing against Harry’s pulsing cock. Harry’s entire body feels taut, and he comes suddenly with a shout. Louis’ strokes him through it and then he wipes his hand off along the side of Harry’s thigh.

“Fuck,” Louis exclaims behind Harry and he can’t help but smile against his shoulder. That sounds about right. He feels tired and awake at the same time. The only thing Harry can focus on is the ghost of Louis’ touch, and the heat of his presence behind him.

He can hear Louis scrambling to his feet, and the sound of what must be his own pants hitting the ground before one of his hands trace the plane of Harry’s back. He shivers under the touch, wanting everything, anything Louis will give him even now. 

“Always knew your back was glorious,” Louis says with awe before his open mouth lands on the bunched up muscles of Harry’s shoulder. His teeth press a gentle hello against Harry’s flushed skin before Louis pulls away with a grunt.

Harry flexes his shoulders, and gets an expected moan from Louis in response. Harry bites back a smile. “Could watch it move for ages. Ever thought of getting inked here too?” Louis trails his fingertips along the edge of Harry's shoulder blade. 

Harry turns his head as far back as he can trying to catch Louis’ expression as he works himself over. He can’t even focus on the question, his mind an endless collage of Louis’ face, his sounds, his smell, his touch. From the sounds of it he’s slick with precome, fist making slick sounds as it works over his cock. He wants to see it so badly, but perhaps it’s for the best that Harry doesn’t seem more than glimpses out of the corner of his eye. He doesn’t think he’d be ready for another round just yet, and he knows that’s what he’d want. He wants Louis to actually press his fingers inside, slick with lube, open him up slow and proper before pushing inside. Wants Louis to suck his cock and bruise his chest with bites, with sucks, with scratches. His mind races at all the possibilities, all the things they can do to each other. 

Harry wants all of that, but also, “Really want to suck you.” Louis groans in response. His sweaty forehead lands on Harry’s shoulder blade before he lifts it up and presses his mouth against Harry’s.

“Yeah?” Louis licks his lips. “But then I wouldn’t have this view,” he says, his palm a heavy weight against the back of Harry’s ribs. Yeah. Yeah, this isn’t so bad either, Harry supposes.

“Mmm,” Harry mumbles, pushing himself back so that Louis’ fisted cock bumps against the crease of his ass. “Come on,” he says. He’s being a bit bossy, considering, but Louis doesn’t seem to mind.

“You like being used?” He asks, as he lets go of his cock and nestles it between Harry’s cheeks. He hisses as he starts thrusting. It’s hot, sweaty and filthy, with come, sweat and spit gathered over every inch of Harry’s skin. And that’s exactly what makes him come alive.

“Yeah, please.”

“What if I fucked your thighs? Think it’d be too dry for you?” He sounds hesitant, but it sounds absolutely perfect to Harry.

“No, please,” Harry pleads, the thought of having Louis even closer making his skin thrum with desire. He’s never felt such full body arousal after coming, but then again his partners rarely continued to play with him. Apparently he had more erogenous zones than he thought, shivering at the feel of Louis’ hard nipples pressing against his back. He must’ve taken his shirt off at some point. And even that was intriguing to Harry. That Louis had managed to get undressed without him even noticing. 

“Please, please,” Harry asks again and spreads his thighs in invitation. Louis kisses him before he obliges, pressing his throbbing cock between Harry’s thighs. Harry presses them close and squeezes his muscles, relishing the feel of Louis between them. It makes his thighs burn, and his gut. He’ll truly never look at this wall the same way again.

With their slight height difference Harry doesn’t even need to raise himself to his toes for them to line up properly; the way Louis’ cock fits between Harry’s legs feeling natural and easy. Harry can relax into it, squeezing occasionally, and trying to memorize the pattern of Louis’ sounds.

Louis feels big as he thrusts, awakening all the nerves that have gone numb post-orgasm. He needs to have Louis inside of him at some point, he has to. He tries to move in sync with Louis as he pants behind him, arms circling Harry’s chest.

“Do you want to come again?” He asks, fingers hot against Harry’s lower belly. His stomach jumps at the touch.

“Don’t think I can,” Harry answers. The disappointment must be clear in his voice, but Louis doesn’t press, instead just licking a stripe along the back of Harry’s arm as it tenses, still being held above Harry’s head. Harry nearly forgot he was still holding his pose, too focused on what was going on between his legs. 

“Another time?”

“Yeah,” Harry’s breath punches out, as he feels Louis’ movement grow more erratic. “All the times, please,” he mumbles, pouting so that Louis will kiss him.

And he does, he presses his mouth against Harry’s hotly. It’s barely a kiss, lips bruised and breath coming in bursts as he stills. Come shooting wet and warm between Harry’s thighs and hitting the wall. 

Harry whimpers into it, as if Louis’ orgams is sucking more pleasure out of Harry. He has no idea how that's possible but he must look a fucking mess, and he shivers at the thought. He tries to suck Louis’ tongue into his mouth. It works to wake him up a bit, his heavy weight comfortable on Harry’s back.

“You can put your arms down, you know,” Louis mumbles, tracing the sides of Harry’s chest, fingertips pushing against the indents of each of his ribs.

“Mm, I know.” His hair is a sweaty mess, wet at the nape and curls matted down and sticking to his back, his neck and forehead. He must look ridiculous, and yet, Louis plucks at it to untangle it as if there’s nothing he’d rather do, leaving chaste kisses in his wake. 

“Might take it as an invitation otherwise.”

“Invitation to what?” Harry asks, curiously. He expects Louis’ fingers to dig into his armpits, trying to tickle him, but instead it’s his nose that presses in close.

“Why’d you smell so good," Louis asks with a grunt, as he inhales again.

“I did shower,” Harry says, petulantly, and Louis laughs. He pulls away after that.

“It's more than that. You should never shower again,” Louis declares, tugging at Harry’s hips to turn him around. The intensity in Louis’ eyes once they face each other is breathtaking, and Harry feels all the more on display. He bites his lip, keeping his arms still, tensing the muscle.

“Aren’t your arms getting tired?” Louis asks, thumb digging into the meat of his bicep. It’s a bit tense, but the touch is soothing, and Harry leans his head back against the wall.

“I guess all that working out paid off.”

“I guess it did,” Louis says with a smile, bumping his nose against Harry’s. That’s the only cue Harry needs to drop his arms, quickly wrapping them around Louis’ shoulders. He’ll hold on to him as long as he can.


End file.
